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A Black Rose,
Glistening in the rain,
A sign, a symbol,
An insignia of loss,
It’s the Flower of Darkness,
Lying in wait on this cold winter night,

It represents the beauty of despair,
The grace of defeat,
The feelings we all find hard to bear,
The millions of people that have all loved and lost,
All behind this flower that holds us aloft,

Within its petals we drown our grief,
With its stem we clutch to what’s left of life,
Within its thorns we spite those who have set us so
And within this dark flower we find our peace,
The power to let go and leave the loved lie,

So with this flower we sign our hearts,
We accept our everlasting love,
And move on,

A Black Rose,
Glistening in the rain,
Ill forever love you,
Ill never lose hope,
But until you come back,
Here’s a Black Rose,
For my love…

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Water still, water deep, how many secrets do you keep?
We look upon your surface calm, and feel the peace that is a balm.
Now the gentle stream runs faster, racing swiftly swiftly —
Over boundless cataracts. Water — share your energy with me.
As a big wide river flowing slowly to the sea,
It fills me with its strength. Love and peace now cover me.
Sunshine on the water fills everything with gold.
And silver from the moonbeams. Feel the joy you now behold.
Water in its many forms soothes the jangled nerves,
Isn’t this a pleasure that everyone deserves?

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In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
are bent legs bouncing
on clouds below. A flag
wags like a fishhook
down there in the sky.

The arched stone bridge
is an eye, with underlid
in the water. In its lens
dip crinkled heads with hats
that don’t fall off. Dogs go by,
barking on their backs.
A baby, taken to feed the
ducks, dangles upside-down,
a pink balloon for a buoy.

Treetops deploy a haze of
cherry bloom for roots,
where birds coast belly-up
in the glass bowl of a hill;
from its bottom a bunch
of peanut-munching children
is suspended by their
sneakers, waveringly.

A swan, with twin necks
forming the figure 3,
steers between two dimpled
towers doubled. Fondly
hissing, she kisses herself,
and all the scene is troubled:
water-windows splinter,
tree-limbs tangle, the bridge
folds like a fan.

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The well was dry beside the door,
And so we went with pail and can
Across the fields behind the house
To seek the brook if still it ran;
Not loth to have excuse to go,
Because the autumn eve was fair
(Though chill), because the fields were ours,
And by the brook our woods were there.

We ran as if to meet the moon
That slowly dawned behind the trees,
The barren boughs without the leaves,
Without the birds, without the breeze.

But once within the wood, we paused
Like gnomes that hid us from the moon,
Ready to run to hiding new
With laughter when she found us soon.

Each laid on other a staying hand
To listen ere we dared to look,
And in the hush we joined to make
We heard, we knew we heard the brook.

A note as from a single place,
A slender tinkling fall that made
Now drops that floated on the pool
Like pearls, and now a silver blade.

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Golden orangish flames
Hinted with a hue of blue
Circling round hardened wood
Consuming the outer
Streaking through the grain
Down to its very core

Strange.. the comparison to love
How it begins with a spark
Then a glowing consuming feeling
Circling round the outer till it reaches the very core of the soul
As it streaks through the body then reaching the heart

Fire and love different as night is to day
But none the less….
Both consume and may warm a being
Or leave one with nothing but ashes